Must my jaw be firm,
to throw the first punch of a fight?

Must my hands be delicate,
to hold you tightly in my arms?

Must my voice be deep,
to show you how much I care?

Must my eyes be saddened,
to prove how much I want you there?

On a green leaf
For frogs
Illuminated by the surface under
There she sits on
A part
A piece I looked as a picture
Dazing wondrously and scouring with pairs
My sandals my feet my hands
All my fingers and nails
My ears
My toes of ten
and legs
Knees and my shoulders
The missing piece
or so i thought under
The afterthought
Full of doubters
For the plants grew all tall
None could be any taller
Dazzling danglers
A field under the stars.

Girly willed as am I
Which could not seem possible
Acceptance aches
Belief breaks
Even the words I speak, write or sing,
(Shall I
Hear it...)
over there it only echos
against the busy chatter and travels back home
Clogs *******
Reminding me that a life can be extinguished with mere
disbelief.
Disbelief and ignorance another pair...
Girly willed as I am
Nodding behind books
Fiction, fiction, fiction
They neigh
So here I go...
Thankful prayer as it did happen to us..
And all of it did
That it was I who did it.

Fuels of her pair
by flying passion and wild innocence
Now...
A human being
Limitless like the others
Why don't they not see? The rest, the stops,
The same scene, there is exactly the same scene...of falls.
If they just went out and did it, for a stretch and a walk,
Just grow out of leaves, be the branches printed of feathery crease
Because I am girly willed
Golden meadows lost to become treasure.
Fearless of rags she is as I am,
Laying afloat of the clouds, linen skies, seas and drifting through the weightless sand
Fearless forever.

As women we are conditioned to love what breaks us
Because unconditional love isn’t a skill to be cultivated,
It’s an expectation we so painfully fill.

As women we are told that there is meaning in our silence.
That our beauty lies within what stays untold,
That our voices limit our inherent value.

As women we must mold ourselves
Into one of a hundred cookie cutter
Versions of the same person that
We deem an acceptable form of femininity.
They tell us that this is our identity
When really it’s a way to make ourselves
Palatable.

As women we must apologize for conformity
And we must apologize for breaking away.
The female population lacks the luxury
Of confidence without judgement
Because we fear it won’t make us as simple.

As women we are tailored to please the world.
The burden we carry aches with all of the moments
We wish we could have done something different and didn’t.
I am tired of the rules.
I am tired of the chains.

In some lost, moss covered grove, lifeless, she layed…
Then Green Venus tipped her basin, showering
streams of endless water thrashing and splashing
atop her ***** then rushing down her bronzen brae.
Flushed in feminine essence, she opened
her great shell to fill with sumptuous water
‘till it spilled and gushed the ribbed edges over
and onto the soil did Spring’s milk descend.
Drenched and dripping she bursts from dormancy
to embrace her first morning of animation
through misty flurries and fluid gyration
leaving slushy trails of puddles and pollen
and, through dew soaked skies, dawn’s first amber light
Illuminates Spring, fully wakened and alive.

The devout of Saint Sophia, the ones who prayed
Venerated, ******-martyr, holy hunger
The priestesses, vestal tombs. Virgins of Etrusca
What do they know of me?
Waifish, heart-sad, victim of ill womanhood
Persecutor, rejector of the womb,
Denier of her blood.